The Tooth Without Enamel

Posted on 03/12/2014 by Luke

Today marks the final day in Japan to admire the autumn leaves. Abscission has commenced, and the leaves are poised to fall. It’s as if some secret internal clock, powered by nature, instructs the trees that today is the day to part ways with their foliage. Cascading like clockwork, fading like time. Today, the leaves will begin their descent, and there is no changing that fact. The Japanese people inform me that it starts today. The trees, too, are aware that it starts today. The ground outside is a wash of greens, yellows, and reds. A reflecting traffic light on a rain-swept road would complement the scene perfectly. Today is clear with sunshine, dry but with a light breeze. No rain, no reflections. I step outside for one last time to relish in the autumn colours. Tomorrow, there will be nothing left.

Despite my obvious fascination with the tranquil joy of autumn colours, I am distracted—still suffering silently from a toothache. The dentist doesn’t open until half-past two, and with an afternoon lunch planned, I decide on a 4 p.m. appointment. I take the train to Harajuku. Today, two very different festivals are taking place in the space outside Yoyogi Park. The first is a vegan food festival, and the second is a Spanish food festival.

I exit the train at Harajuku Station. On the other side of the ticket barrier, a young Japanese man with a microphone awaits. Like an animal waiting to catch its prey, he stands silently until I draw near. Suddenly, he rushes into my path, stopping me in my tracks and interrupting my thoughts of dental disquiet. “Excuse me, can you speak English?” he asks, holding the microphone rather intrusively beneath my chin before pushing it toward my mouth, seeking a reply. I hesitate for a moment, unprepared for his question.
“No, sorry,” I tell him.
“Oh,” he says, looking at me with a mix of confusion and wry disappointment. “Okay, sorry then.” With that, he scans his Suica card on the ticket machine and heads through the barrier in the direction of the platform; his outline lost in seconds as he is swallowed up by the reckless crowds.

I arrive at Yoyogi Park to find the Spanish festival in full swing: various food stalls, eleven of which are selling paella, traditional Spanish clothing, and flamenco dancers performing on the large stage. The dancers appear to be genuinely enjoying themselves, their souls lost to the rhythm of the music.

I didn’t come all this way to be harassed by men with microphones or to listen to Spanish music, though. Today, my purpose is the vegan festival. As I wander from Spain, I inadvertently end up in Germany. Somewhere between the two food markets, car manufacturer BMW has a stage showcasing their newest electric car, the BMW i8. I can’t quite see what this has to do with the Spanish festival or a diet free from animal products. The BMW stage looks incredibly out of place; it is mostly ignored by the many people clearly here to eat food.

At the vegan food festival, there is a lot less hot food than I expected. Most of the stalls are selling organic and Fair Trade products—coffees, chocolates, teas, sugars, and various types of bread. There are only about ten hot food stalls, but almost all of the food has already sold out. I am spoiled for choice between a shop selling Indian curry and another selling vegan burgers.

¥500 later, and I’m sitting on a park bench, eating a burger, surrounded by fallen leaves that probably taste better than my food. If not for the sauce that adds at least a hint of flavour, I would likely discard the burger and rush back to Spain for some lukewarm paella instead. As I leave the festival, I notice that the people browsing the vegan stalls seem less happy than those over at the Spanish festival.

Literally full of beans, I head back to Asakusa and to the dentist. I’ve chosen to visit a much smaller surgery than the one I had been to previously—an English-speaking dentist I met in a bar, and I’ve kept her business card for a day like today. At the dentist, I endure four separate x-rays before a quick fix is done on my tooth. I make an appointment to return in two weeks’ time. It looks like my tooth will face the same fate as the autumn leaves—an abscission of sorts. After an hour at the dentist, I pay ¥9720 and receive another packet of little yellow pills. I am told that if I apply for a Japanese insurance card, I can reclaim two-thirds of the cost of this treatment and all subsequent treatments—a welcome bonus and information they didn’t really have to disclose.

Tooth sorted, I head over to Cafe Byron Bay to play at an open mic night—my second time today before a microphone. At some point during the evening, I receive a phone call from my dentist. She is calling to check how my tooth is doing. I am surprised she made the effort to see how I am—an excellent example of customer service in Japan. Despite knowing that in two weeks, I’ll have my tooth severed without anæsthesia, her compassion somehow relaxes me. I forget about my fate and enjoy the rest of the evening, virtually pain-free.

Parasite at the Museum

Posted on 16/09/2014 by Luke

Today is a public holiday dedicated to respecting the elderly and celebrating longevity. In Japan, there are fifteen different public holidays annually, and due to the implementation of the ‘Happy Monday System,’ several holidays have been shifted to Mondays to grant people a three-day weekend. Unfortunately, my toothache has plunged me into perpetual agony today. Regrettably, all the dentists are on holiday because of the celebration honouring the elderly. Not wishing to bare one’s teeth, I struggle on in pain.

My first stop today is Shibuya Station. With most of the country off work today, the area is overcrowded and annoying. I grab a bottle of drink that claims to contain one thousand lemons (which I very much doubt) before walking in the sunshine toward Harajuku, in search of some illustrious graffiti. On the way, I pass Yoyogi Park; here, there are swarms of teenage girls all standing around waiting for some sort of summer concert to start. I decide to pass on the concert. In Harajuku, it is just as crowded. I wander around side streets but find the graffiti to be somewhat lacklustre. I take just one photograph before walking back to Harajuku Station.

I take the Yamanote Line to Meguro, which translates to mean ‘black eyes’. After eventually finding a map, I discover that my destination isn’t marked. So, I search for a Seven Eleven and use their free wireless Internet. I then head to the Meguro Parasitological Museum; the only parasite museum in the world, I might add. I am surprised to find it open on a public holiday, and I am even more surprised to find that the entry is free.

If you are looking for a cheap destination for a romantic afternoon, then the Meguro Parasitological Museum is for you. Here, there are jars of parasites, magnifying glasses for that closer look, and an interactive screen displaying the life cycle of a parasite. There is even a small souvenir shop selling shirts depicting parasitological dissections. Finally, a gift shop selling something worth buying.

With my appetite faded, I leave the museum and decide to skip lunch. I take the Meguro Line six stops to Ookayama Station. Each time the train starts up, it sounds like a jet engine. I change at Ookayama to the Tokyu Oimachi Line; this train also sounds like it is about to take off as it leaves the station. Eventually, I land in Jiyugaoka.

Jiyugaoka is often voted as one of the best places to live in Tokyo. The streets here are a cluster of expensive clothes shops and shops selling expensive cakes and sweets. Some stores have signs outside that say, ‘Women only.’ The roads here are even pedestrianised during the daytime, providing extra space for the many crowds. My intrigue takes me to a place called ‘Sweets Forest.’

Sweets Forest is an indoor theme park filled with cake shops and overpriced candies. For no apparent reason, traditional Irish folk music is playing inside. However, the thought of eating sweets brings more pain to my teeth, so I decide it’s time to leave. I take the Tokyu Toyoko Line to Shibuya, transferring to the Ginza Line before heading home.

Back at the hostel, everything is getting on my nerves. People keep asking each other the same questions, speaking in languages that could be English, but I can’t be sure. There’s too much noise, and I can’t seem to focus my mind. I try to write, but the pain in my teeth and jaw keeps distracting me. Tomorrow, I’m faced with the daunting task of visiting a Japanese dentist. A friend jokes about how dentists here continue to administer pain even if you scream and raise your hand to signal them to stop, or how instead of fixing your problem, they just remove your teeth.

With my appetence faded and my mind consumed by pain, I try to get an early night. I head off to bed at 9 p.m.; although sleep, I expect, will be somewhat limited. Not a very happy Monday at all.

Shiitake My Breath Away

Posted on 08/09/2014 by Luke

The hostel shared news of a festival at Mukojima-Hyakkaen Gardens. Today is Tsukimi-no-Kai, which means ‘Moon Viewing’ – a tradition marking its 210th year in these gardens. The goal tonight is to celebrate and enjoy the Harvest Moon. We’re set to meet up at 4 p.m. It’s cloudy outside; I doubt the moon will be visible, but the event sounds fun.

My first destination of the day is the brilliantly titled ‘Project Eat More Mushrooms,’ just an enticing eleven stations away on the Ginza Line. This year, it’s hosted at Ark Hills, a substantial office development in the heart of Akasaka. I hop on the train and disembark at mnemonic favourite, Toranamon, to run a marathon. I take a rather unhurried walk to the venue. Along the way I pass the Embassy of Micronesia and the Foundation of Miracles, before finally arriving at Project Eat More Mushrooms.

The mushroom festival here is disappointing, an absolute waste of thirty minutes each way on the train. Forget about eating more mushrooms; having more stores selling them would be a welcome start. I can hardly classify four market stalls as a festival. There are no miracles here, no mascots either, and certainly not many mushrooms. To salvage the journey from being a complete waste, I purchase some shiitake mushrooms and enoki mushrooms for a total of ¥450.

Back at the hostel, it dawns on me that these mushrooms are precisely the same ones I could have purchased from Seven Eleven. Considering the wasted time and train fares, these have turned out to be the most expensive mushrooms on the planet.

After the mushroom episode, I gather as planned at 4 p.m. The small group of seven comprises my friends Aram and Dagmar, along with two fantastic tour guides from the hostel, Keina and Gomez. We make our way to Asakusa Station and board the Tobu Skytree Line to Higashimukojima Station. Interestingly, the train deliberately slows to a crawl as it crosses the Sumida River to showcase the glorious view, or so we’re told. Upon reaching Sumida, we head straight to Mukojima-Hyakkaen Gardens, marking my third visit to these beautiful gardens during my time in Japan. The entrance fee remains the usual ¥150.

At the entrance, we’re requested to douse ourselves in mosquito repellent due to a Dengue fever outbreak in Tokyo. Just last week, Yoyogi Park was closed for extensive fumigation to eradicate mosquitoes and is likely to remain shut for several months. Similarly, Shinjuku Gyoen Park underwent the same treatment two days ago. It seems this week might be the least opportune time to visit an outdoor garden.

We enter the gardens, and inside, offerings are being made to the moon.

Television crews are setting up at the entrance to the Hagi Tunnel. Swarms of people are queueing up for the ¥2000 tea ceremony, the same ceremony I had previously enjoyed at no cost. The sound of chirping insects fills the air. We kill some time exploring the park before heading back to the wisteria trellis for the opening ceremony. Following a short opening speech, a performance of the shinobue begins.

A shinobue is a Japanese transverse flute made from hollow bamboo. Two performers play for almost thirty minutes. During their performance, I lose myself in meditation on a bench surrounded by foliage and mosquitoes.

After the performance, it’s time to light the many lanterns scattered throughout the gardens. The paper lanterns are lit just as twilight sets in. In total, there are thirty-five lanterns, and volunteers are encouraged to participate in the event. Each lantern is decorated with a haiku.

Once the lanterns are lit, a curtain of dusk descends to the melodic tune of the koto, a traditional thirteen-stringed Japanese instrument. The five performers play in perfect harmony, and the sweet sound of the koto resonates throughout the gardens. Eventually, the earlier gifts presented and the beautiful music work their magic, transforming the overcast evening sky into a clear one. As if on cue, the clouds part ways, unveiling the face of the Harvest Moon.

We sit down and admire the sky. The moon is a ghostly white, brighter than I can ever recall; but it has been a while. Like the stars, the moon rarely appears above the Tokyo skyline. Tonight the moon doesn’t hide, it looks beautiful, it is breathtaking.

We eat snacks. The chatter combines with the music. The thought crosses my mind that this ceremony has been taking place exactly where I am right now, for the last two-hundred or so years. It probably hasn’t changed much since then either. My mind transported to another time.

I eat a bowl of oden, a Japanese winter food consisting of various fish and vegetables in a soy-flavoured broth. It costs ¥800 and is delicious. We chat for a while longer, enjoying the sound of the insects, the music from the koto performance, and the lull of the moon.

At 7 p.m., it feels much later than it is. Darkness arrives earlier now, but the weather is still warm—an atypical autumn. We all head back to Asakusa on the train before going our separate ways.

I take the Ginza Line for thirty minutes, and as I exit the station into the crowds of Shibuya Crossing, it begins to rain. At 9 p.m., I meet up with a friend from England, Laurence, and his two friends. We gather outside Hachiko, a statue of a dog. The dog belonged to Professor Ueno. Hachiko would wait for the professor at the end of each day outside Shibuya Station until one day, in 1925, the Professor died. Despite the professor’s absence, Hachiko continued to wait faithfully, but his owner never appeared. Legend says the dog returned to the station at the same time every day for nine years, yet Professor Ueno never returned. Then, sadly, in 1935, Hachiko passed away.

Our evening begins in an absinthe bar exclusively playing The Smiths’ music and ends in a cheap izakaya-style bar. Artwork and literature dominate our evening’s discussions. An enjoyable night washed away with rain and ¥450 Suntory whisky highballs. I don’t take a single photograph; much like Hachiko, my camera is dead. With no photographs of my own, Laurence kindly lets me use one of his: Neon Nirvana:

A Kale of Two Sakes

Posted on 23/06/2014 by Luke

I ride the Tokyo Metro Ginza Line. I get off the train at Nihonbashi Station to buy a drink. I recently discovered that there is a small shop selling ¥300 smoothies here. It is the same side of the crossing gate as the tracks so there is no need for me to buy another ticket. I buy a smoothie and hop onto the next train some two minutes later. Today I choose a healthy bright green plastic cup of crushed kale.

From Harajuku Station, I take the five minute walk to Yoyogi Park. There is a festival here today in celebration of fifty years of diplomatic relationship between Japan and Jamaica. The festival is relatively quiet, but it is still morning. There are market stalls selling jerk chicken, mugs, and adorable hats adorning the Jamaican flag; the usual. There is a stage and a choir, they sound good but they are only sound checking, so no one applauds when they finish. I wander for fifteen minutes before deciding to leave.

As I exit the festival a man with a shaved head and white clothing approaches me. He hands me a gold card with a picture of Siddhārtha Gautama etched to the surface. He is not a native Japanese person, and is probably not even a real monk. He tries to get me to write my name, address, and how much money I am willing to ‘pledge’ to him. I tell him that I’m not interested, give him back his card, and walk away shaking my head. Using religion to scam people out of money, that’s a first.

Around the corner from the park, opposite the entrance to Harajuku Station is Takeshita Street; a famous pedestrianised shopping street with an amusing name. It is lined with small boutiques featuring all the newest fashion, and far too many ice cream shops. There is nothing really of interest for me here so I walk the length of the street before returning to Harajuku Station and jumping back on the train.

Back in Asakusa I hire a bicycle. ¥200 for four hours, brilliant. I park my bike at the hostel and sit on the pavement to take photographs of a lit up Tokyo Skytree; I try to improve the image by messing around with my cameras settings. Someone shouts my name from behind me, “Luke, what are you doing sitting on the floor?” It is a woman who works at the hostel. I tell her I am messing around with exposure and shutter speed. “Oh,” she says rather confused, “I’m emptying trash!” I think to myself that I probably know more about emptying rubbish than I do exposure and shutter speed.

Back on my bike, I cycle around in search of food. After a while, I eventually give in to a Seven Eleven tartare sauce fish burger and a bottle of Pocari Sweat. Pocari Sweat is going to be the first sports drink that has a billboard on the moon, or so an advertising leaflet claims. I cycle around the quiet back streets of Asakusa, stop off for a rest outside the exciting World Bags and Luggage Museum. No idea. I randomly bump into a person I know from the Fuji TV show; he is stood talking to a man dressed as a tree. No idea.

Back at the hostel I chill out in my favourite room, the 4th floor laundry lounge. The room is actually an outdoor conservatory in a big tent. It features a ball pit, a lovely water fountain, and a bath tub full of soil. Cherry tomatoes grow from the soil. I sit on a chair and read the last thirty or so pages of Murakami’s ‘Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World’. It is here that I lose myself to the tranquillity of my surroundings. A staff member interrupts my serenity. She is here to do ‘maintenance’ on the ball pit, or so she tells me with a grin. She elegantly makes sure all the balls are neatly resting in the bathtub before leaving me in peace.

After finishing my book I pop over the road for a quick drink in A.S.A.B. I chat to the bar owner and ask him if he knows any good places to eat. “Yes,” he states matter-of-factly, “I draw you map.” He draws me a map. I thank him, pay, and leave the bar. His map is very accurate and I find the place with ease. Inside I take a stool at the bar and am handed an English menu, a nice surprise.

So, from the top left I have a pot and saucer of Japanese mustard for dipping, fresh cabbage served on ice, a side salad, spring onions, rice, a white box, some odd tasting red pickles, edamame beans, and the star of the show, cutlassfish marinated in soy sauce. The set meal also comes with miso soup, but it is pork based so I ask to have my meal without. I drink two Suntory whisky highballs whilst I feast, and pay ¥2240.

Now, that white box. Natto. It has no place with the rest of the meal so I take it back to the hostel. On the way I buy a tube of salt and vinegar flavour Pringles. I eat the natto using chop sticks, I wrap three to five fermented soy beans around a crisp; the correct way to eat natto, probably. The natto smells so bad that it even comes with a sachet of strong smelling mustard, and some red sauce that just about cancels out the disappointing smell.

In the hostel I meet up with a couple of guys from Hong Kong, and Aaliya, the Canadian I met during my first week here. It is her last night in Japan, so we decide to drink. We go to a bar, closed. We go to another, they’ve stopped serving. At the third bar, Asakusa OTO, we are humbly welcomed inside. It is a sake bar selling Japanese rice wine. It tastes okay, better than the supermarket rubbish I am used to. Sayaka, the English speaking Japanese staff member asks me to go through her English menu and correct the twelve mistakes. The owner of the bar puts on the ‘most famous’ Britpop band ever, Ride. I tell him I’ve never heard of Ride. Instead he puts on The Smiths.

‘Girlfriend in a Coma’ plays in the background while I eat crushed ice with sweet sauces. Delicious. It is time to leave after about an hour of sake drinking. We go to pay and the owner refuses to take our money. He says I should tell more foreigners about his bar in exchange for the drinks he has given us. It’s the least I can do, I tell him, scribbling his website on the back of my hand.

Mascot, Mascot, Mascots

Posted on 11/06/2014 by Luke

The elevator stops at a random floor. I stick my head out, but there’s nobody there—very odd indeed. Outside, the rainy season has decided to take a day off; the weather forecast for Tokyo today is ‘scorchio!’ I am up quite early so I decide to do my laundry. I chill out in the ball bath for a while whilst waiting.

Once finished I leave the hostel and decide to check out Kappabashi Street; a road I have walked past at least thirty times since being here but have never bothered to venture down. It is a shopping street selling many specialty goods, mostly kitchen products. This street is littered with pink lanterns. It also has its own special mascot, the kappa, a Japanese river imp.

After walking the full length of Kitchen Street, I arrive at Ueno Station. Here I take a train to Ikebukuro.

I visit an art gallery, only to find a sign inside stating ‘closed today.’ I start to ponder if anything in Japan is ever open. Outside, I notice a sign reading ‘パフォーマンス中’, with ’12:15′ scribbled below it on a whiteboard. Translating the sign, I discern it means ‘performance at 12:15’. It feels like my Japanese learning is finally paying off.

I head across to a nearby McDonald’s to kill half an hour and to kill my healthy diet. I sit down in a private booth, there is a screen in front of me so nobody else can watch me eating. All very strange.

Back outside the performance is about to start. A man appears dressed as a type of Godzilla human statue. He walks slowly to the middle of a large open area and stands on a slightly raised platform. Here he remains perfectly still. Two minutes later someone puts a coin in his collection bucket. It is at this moment he comes back to life to give the person a ‘thumbs up’, before returning to his original position.

It is a hot day. The sun burning in the sky, but there is not a bead of sweat on the man. There is a moment of comedy when a woman poses next to the statue for a photograph, presumably she thinks the statue is real. The man steps off his raised platform and sneaks up on the lady; when she finally notices him she lets out a loud scream and everybody laughs. After a while of literally standing around, I decide to grab the train bound for Harajuku.

At Harajuku Station there is a sign with arrows pointing to nearby tourist attractions. Takeshita Street, Yoyogi Park, the NHK Building, and Meiji Shrine. All four are within five minute walking distance from the train station. I toss a coin and it lands in the gutter. I toss another and it directs me to the NHK Building.

NHK is Japan’s national public broadcasting organisation, its equivalent being the BBC. Inside I see everything from props and set locations, the history of NHK, quiz machines to test my knowledge of NHK, a machine that lets you be a nature cameraman, and my favourite activity, a mock up television studio.

At the mock up studio I am seated at a news desk and instructed to look at the camera. Next, I take part in a fake weather broadcast. I stand behind a Tokyo skyline and point at things which are being projected onto a large television screen. It is all very exciting.

I get the chance to witness a live broadcast. Behind a large glass screen, NHK is airing a television show called ‘Studio Park Kara Konnichiwa.’ It’s a live chat show featuring two hosts, a guest, a producer, and four cameramen. I stand and watch for a while, probably fifteen feet away from the show’s hosts, before eventually realising I can’t understand a word of what is being said. So much for my Japanese learning finally paying off.

Leaving the NHK media theme park, a statue of Domo-kun waves me goodbye. Domo-kun has been the broadcaster’s mascot since 1998, and is described as ‘a strange creature that hatched from an egg’. Goodbye Domo-kun! The exit leads out into Shibuya. I am surprised just how close together everything is in Japan and wonder why people waste so much time here on trains.

On the train, I see an advertisement for the FIFA World Cup; it shows the mascots for the Japanese National team. They are the Pokémon characters Bulbasaur, Charmander, Chespin, Fennekin, Froakie, Helioptile, Litleo, Meowth, Pancham, Pikachu, and Squirtle. I am looking forward to the World Cup and think Japan are worth a punt at 200/1. Back at the hostel I discover that England’s game against Uruguay is at 3 a.m. here. I am no longer looking forward to the World Cup.

I eat Wasabi flavoured crisps, watermelon, and my favourite food, Cheese Mushi Cake. I then head out to the English bar where I practice my teaching skills. Much to my delight, the English bar is playing Beatles Radio; a mix of original and cover versions of Beatles songs. I stay until last orders and head back to the hostel to find a party going on and a guitar.

I play ‘Give up the Ghost’ by Radiohead. After I finish a man says that the way I play reminds him of Thom Yorke. His comment makes my day. Later, three ladies from Thailand who had heard me playing earlier approach me and start talking to me in Radiohead; the perfect end to an evening.

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